


These Small Hours

by sharkle



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-01
Updated: 2010-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:30:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkle/pseuds/sharkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five short moments in the lives of Harry and Ginny, in HBP and DH - because sometimes words that aren't theirs are better than none at all. Challenge fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. everything will be okay

... I just need someone to tell me everything will be okay. I need to believe that, it's all I have. ...

~

"What happened to you?"

Harry looks wearily up, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed, his hair sticking up all on one side. The sight that greets him is not one he expected.

"Ginny?" he asks disbelievingly. "What are you doing up?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," his girlfriend says suspiciously, rising from her spot on the couch and moving toward him.

"Oh... just... couldn't sleep," says Harry lamely.

Ginny raises her eyebrows.

"It's not a big deal," he insists.

"Uh-huh."

She's directly in front of him now, nearly standing on his feet. She looks up into his tired, worn face. "You know you can tell me anything, Harry," she tells him softly.

"I know."

Harry pushes past her, sitting himself down in front of the fire, his upper body supported by the base of the seat Ginny has just vacated. He stares into the scarlet embers, eyes dark despite the brightness of what they're seeing. Ginny places herself gently beside him.

"It was a nightmare," he says at last, very quietly. "I - I hear my mum and dad again, but they're in the graveyard, and he... he does what he did to Cedric. And then it'll change to Sirius, in the Ministry, and he - Voldemort - is laughing, like a maniac... and it's horrible, because I know what's about to happen, and I can't stop it..."

Ginny's chin is resting on his shoulder, peeking up at him through her lashes. Harry bends his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I just need someone to tell me everything will be okay," he almost-whispers, and his voice breaks. "I need to believe that, it's all I have."

"You have me," says Ginny simply, now clinging to his arm. "You'll always have me."

"I know, Ginny."

They sit in silence until Harry stands and offers her a hand, completely forgetting to ask her why she was in the common room in the first place. Just before they part for their dormitories, they share a hug and kiss.

In a voice so low he can barely hear her, Ginny reassures him, "Everything will be okay, Harry."

And that's all he needs.

~


	2. i want you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five short moments in the lives of Harry and Ginny, in HBP and DH - because sometimes words that aren't theirs are better than none at all. Challenge fic.

... I want you. ...

~

The evening is a nice one: Through the windows, a tree line is glowing orange in the slowly sinking sun, making the place feel even more like home than usual to the residents of Gryffindor Tower. Many of them have gone down to dinner, but some – a large majority of the fifth and seventh years – remain to work on the multitude of homework they have for the next day (and the next one, and the next one…). Most work silently, with their heads down, but a few use teamwork, and one fifth year is using her boyfriend.

"And what's the incantation again?"

"Evanesco."

"Right, thanks."

In anyone else's case, Harry minds enormously if they ask directly for answers on homework, but for Ginny, he doesn't mind in the slightest – especially if the result is more of her to himself. He's been doing a lot of this lately, helping her with her O.W.L. work, but with his help comes certain rewards that make it more than worth the long periods of time where all that's heard in the common room is the scratching of quills and the occasional low mutter. It was slightly unnerving the first few days he volunteered his knowledge, but he's used to it now.

"And… done!" Ginny announces, setting her quill down with a flourish. She grabs her essay and snaps it behind her to where Harry is laying on one of the many couches, propped up on his elbow.

Harry scans through it quickly, searching only for the key points he knows the work needs.

"Perfect," he says with a grin, and hands the parchment back to its owner. Ginny rolls it up and stows it away in her bag before giving Harry a quick peck on the lips.

"I owe you one," she tells him gratefully.

"Actually, you owe me about fifteen, but who's counting?"

"Prat," says Ginny, smacking him playfully on the arm. "Now scoot, the floor isn't exactly comfortable, you know."

Harry starts to reposition himself so that he's sitting up, but before he's even halfway there a heavy weight plops itself down onto his middle – a heavy weight that just happens to be his girlfriend.

"Uh, Ginny?" he chokes out.

"Yes?" asks Ginny pleasantly, looking down at him.

"Can you, uh, move? I can't… you know… breathe."

Ginny laughs; the sound alone makes Harry's nearly permanently low spirits lift a little. "I didn't know Harry Potter the Great needed to breathe," she teases.

"Yeah, well, he does," says Harry, "so any day now would be nice."

"Fine, fine," mutters Ginny lightly as she hops off him, and at last he is able to get himself upright. This time, Ginny settles herself on top of his lap, an arrangement he's not in the least upset about. She wiggles around a bit.

"Better?"

"Much," says Harry. He waits for a fraction of a second, then kisses her deeply and sweetly. The kiss does not escalate much further: The two aren't in the relationship for the snogging, they're in it because they make each other happy, hold each other together. Their kisses are words that they can't say, are afraid to say, in the middle of a war – I love you, Don't leave me, Stay safe, I'm scared.

When they break apart, they press their foreheads together.

"There's still one thing I don't understand," says Ginny, breathing only slightly heavier than normal.

Harry raises his eyebrows. "And that is…?"

"Why did you pick me? You have the entire female population of Hogwarts at your fingertips. You can have anybody you want."

Harry laughs quietly, enjoying the cluelessness of the question.

"Well, I would think that would be obvious, Miss Weasley," he says in a professor-like tone.

"Oh? And what would that oh-so-obvious answer be, Mr. Potter?" asks Ginny, feigning child-like curiosity.

"Ginny," says Harry – he gives another short laugh – "I could have anybody I want, yes. But I want you."

Ginny's cheeks turn faintly pink, but then she shoots back inquiringly, "And exactly how much do you want me?"

"I'll show you."

And with that, Harry pulls her to her feet and out of the common room, headed for the nearest deserted classroom.

~


	3. i have to make myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five short moments in the lives of Harry and Ginny, in HBP and DH - because sometimes words that aren't theirs are better than none at all. Challenge fic.

... I have to make myself not want you, otherwise you're all I think about. ...

~

He doesn't know why he does it, doesn't know what good comes of it, doesn't know what about it is so comforting, and yet every night, every single night, he repeats his actions, over and over and over.

After checking that Hermione is safely in the tent – either at the table, looking troubled, or in bed, sleeping-resting fitfully – Harry positions himself in a spot where he can see the stars through the treetops, sometimes just barely remaining inside their boundary, as he knows he must. He always searches for Sirius first, and he always deliberately puts off spotting it until he's scanned all of the sky, all of the heavens, until he finds the one star that shines brightly, just for him. He's searched the velvety blackness for it before he's gone to sleep almost every night since the Sirius he knows has died; it gives him a huge sense of ease to know that Sirius is still watching him.

Harry gazes at the Sirius star for the longest of times, listening to the leaves rustle. He whispers, "I'm so sorry," and doesn't even hear it escape his lips; the wind carries it away, up to where his godfather can hear him. He stares around at the other stars for a while, too: Sirius' companions in the afterlife. Dumbledore is up there, somewhere, and so are his parents. So is Cedric, so is Moody, so is Hedwig. So are many others.

Harry hates that all of them have died, have left him with this shit to get out of, but the knowledge that they're all still watching over him, keeping guard over him, is some sort of twisted consolation.

The thing Harry likes best about looking at the silver specks imprinted on the sky is that it's the one connection he has to Ginny. Ginny can still see the same stars he can, the same moon – the moon that's almost full, he realizes with a jolt, and his thoughts fly pityingly to Remus for just a moment before being steered back on track just as quickly – and maybe, just maybe, she thinks about him as much as he thinks about her.

He almost wishes he doesn't. He has to focus, has to think about what comes next, has to keep moving and make sure he isn't killed. He tries to keep himself preoccupied during the day, and somehow he does, although he doesn't know how. At night, this is his reward.

Harry slips his hand into the mokeskin pouch he got for his birthday and pulls it out again, this time with a sheaf of parchment clutched in it. He slides his wand out of his robes, grips it tightly, and places the tip lightly in the middle of the parchment.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he recites quietly.

He is no longer awed by the steady unravel of the map and no longer as awed as he was that his father's finger has more than likely – almost definitely – traced so many of the pathways and corridors in the halls of Hogwarts. No, tonight he is taking the time he has to be awed by Ginny and her tiny ink-labeled dot, because tonight is the last night before the Christmas holidays. He's not sure exactly what the date is, but he can just tell by the castle's behavior – Peeves hiding in suits of armor, girls lurking where mistletoe is usually hung (he's glad she isn't one of them) – that it's around that time. Harry knows that after tonight, he won't be able to see her dot again for another few weeks, knows that she may not even come back if Snape and the Carrows are as horrible as he imagines them to be.

He stares hard at her dot, which is now a small stick person, sprawled out across her bed. She's not asleep – there are no mini Z's issuing from her figure to indicate so – and he hopes beyond hope that she knows he's thinking about her, even though he knows it's so, so wrong for him to.

Tonight, instead of taking extra time to stare at the map, he puts it away early.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, looking at the now empty parchment at exactly the spot where her dot would still be. "I have to make myself not want you, otherwise you're all I think about."

But that doesn't work: He still wants her, no matter how much he tells himself the opposite, and even when he thinks he's got his annoying, arguing subconscious to agree, he still thinks about her, more than he would like to admit (he'll admit it to her someday, when all this shit everyone's left him in is over).

~


	4. i'm too young

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five short moments in the lives of Harry and Ginny, in HBP and DH - because sometimes words that aren't theirs are better than none at all. Challenge fic.

... I'm too young to feel this old. ...

~

They hardly say a word to each other anymore, but it doesn't seem to be a problem to them: The grief is too fresh, the wound too raw, and conversation feels so trivial compared to the precious treasure that is life, and never more so than when a life has been ended so abruptly. Sentences full of nonsense and jokes are not enough anymore; they do not disguise the fact that, no matter what anyone tells him, he is now more alone than ever.

That's how all of the school is these days: They keep their heads down, they rarely smile, and they feel horrible.

On most nights, the two of them curl up together on a couch or an armchair, trying to force themselves to be strong, trying to keep composure, because it's all they can do.

Harry hates the silence that death always brings to him – it's so much more than just a loss, like it is for others. For him, it's a gain, a gain on the list of things that he has to carry on his bare shoulders, and now the pile is so high he can barely hold it up anymore. Dumbledore has left him, and it's yet another knife in the heart, and although he doesn't realize it, the knife wounds are bleeding, bleeding so much that he's going to die from the pain of it, the poison of it, if he gets even one more tiny butter knife stabbed into him.

He doesn't have a clue how weak he really is, how his death is just around the corner, inches from his fingertips. All Harry knows is that he is going to be stabbing himself again, because he has to let her go. He has no other choice, and it's going to kill him, slowly and painfully.

"I'm too young to feel this old," he mumbles without thinking, and Ginny nods from her spot burrowed into his side, not at all surprised to hear him speak even though the last thing they said to each other was a soft "Hey" when they greeted each other that morning.

He wishes more than anything else that he can tell her right here and now that he's leaving, that they can't be together, that he loves her too much to let her come with him, and that when he leaves for the summer, it may be one of the last times she ever sees him – he can't. He can't, because that's a job for noble adults to do, and he's still only sixteen, so he tries to enjoy the little time left he has as a teenager with his girlfriend.

He'll grow up for real tomorrow. He'll use the words that mean nothing, but more than anything else he'll use his eyes and try to tell her, most importantly: I love you.

He won't say it aloud. The words just aren't enough anymore.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is probably my favorite of the five, if only for the last line. :)


	5. hurt hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five short moments in the lives of Harry and Ginny, in HBP and DH - because sometimes words that aren't theirs are better than none at all. Challenge fic.

... There are some hurts you never completely get over. And you think time will diminish their presence and to a degree... it does. But it still hurts, because, well... hurt hurts. ...

~

She knows she's being stupid. She's fully aware that she's being unreasonable. She just doesn't care.

She wishes she's taking it a lot less hard than she is. It seems easy to fool herself into thinking exactly that, but while her brain says, "You're over him," her heart says, "You love him." She can't decide which she should listen to; both seem so promising, yet so full of empty promises.

She tries her very best to act normal around her friends on the train ride home almost as hard as she tries to ignore him. She ends up squeezing him in a hug so tight she could swear his face turns blue. When she thinks about it as the Ministry car bumps along, she realizes that she should have expected it of herself. She's never been able to ignore him before, so why should she be able to now?

"Exactly," her heart tells her knowledgably.

Her mother casts slightly worried glances at her over the back of her seat, as though her thoughtful silence is highly, unusual (which, of course, it is). Ginny doesn't notice: She's too busy wondering what she should make herself think.

When they get home, she mumbles an excuse and goes up to her room for some solitude. But she doesn't need – she doesn't want – solitude. She wants to see him safely sitting on her bed, perhaps even looking peaceful for a change.

Ginny tries to act normal. She doesn't lock herself away, or refuse meals; however, she rarely talks and she doesn't make eye contact with anyone, either.

She's staring out into the vast space surrounding the Burrow when she hears a soft knock on her door.

"Come in," she calls quietly.

Her mother opens the door and steps inside, closing it gently behind her. She walks over to her daughter and sits herself next to her on top of the covers.

"Hi, Mum," mumbles Ginny half-heartedly, her eyes flicking away from the illusion that all is right in the world.

Molly raises her eyebrows. "Is that all you have to say? 'Hi'?"

Ginny shrugs. "I guess."

Molly half purses her lips, half grimaces, putting her arm around Ginny. "It would help if you told me what's wrong, dear," she says.

"Nothing's wrong," protests Ginny, but she falters under her mother's unwavering gaze. She sighs heavily. "Well… it… it sort of has to do with Harry."

Molly is sure her shock is registered on her face, although she masks it well. "What about Harry?"

Ginny fidgets uncomfortably for a few tense moments before murmuring, "We were going out."

"You were?" asks Molly disbelievingly. At her daughter's nod, she further inquires, "For how long?"

Ginny's mouth twists into a bright smile. "A while," she says, and then upon noticing the lack of reaction on her mother's face, she elaborates in a rushed explanation. "Well, he said that he's liked me since nearly the beginning of term, and of course he knows how long I've liked him, even though I told Hermione that I was over him when I started dating Michael. When I broke up with Dean, there were times when he would always open his mouth to say something and then close it again. I had no idea what was going on. After the Quidditch Final, he came back from his detention with Snape, and he… he kissed me."

Molly is smiling now, too, hardly able to believe that the shy boy she once knew had the nerve to show that kind of affection in front of so many people. Ginny has a far-away look in her eyes, perhaps remembering just what it feels like to have Harry's lips on hers. She snaps back quickly to the present.

"Everything was going great," she says, her happiness dwindling, "but then…" She pauses to swallow; she will not cry, she will not fall apart over a break-up when he always stands strong with the weight of the world on his shoulders. "At Dumbledore's funeral, he… he broke up with me."

Molly blinks, her ears still not processing what they've just heard. Harry is a boy who is far more in tune with people's emotions than most; how had he not known how much he was bettering her daughter's life?

"He said he wants me to stay safe," Ginny says, her dam starting to crumble. "He doesn't want Voldemort" – she ignores her mother's slight flinch – "to use me again. He couldn't stand it if it was my funeral he was sitting at." (Molly has to force herself not to think of that scenario.) "He sounded so vulnerable, it scared me. He was desperate, and Mum –"

Ginny is crying freely now, because she feels she has as much pull over the war as the Chosen One does at this moment.

"– Mum, I'm afraid for him. I'm afraid he's not going to come out of this alive."

Molly surprises herself with the fact that she doesn't have tears pouring down her face, but she thinks that maybe it has something to do with her sneaking suspicion that mirrors Ginny's perfectly. The odds are against them, but they have to choice other than to believe as hard as they can.

She pushes Ginny away from her, holds her firmly by the shoulders, and looks into her own eyes.

"Ginny, listen to me," Molly says. "We're at war now. War is dangerous. But Harry is a strong person. He will get through this. You have to have faith in him."

Ginny nods, wiping her eyes. "I know, Mum," she says. "It just… it hurts."

Molly pulls her daughter back into a hug and rests her chin on top of Ginny's head. "There are some hurts that you never completely get over, Ginny," she consoles softly. "And you think time will diminish their presence and to a degree… it does. But it still hurts, because, well…" She trails off, looking for a way to explain what she wants to say.

"… hurt hurts," Ginny finishes, almost to herself.

Molly looks down at Ginny, kisses her head, and gets up.

"It'll be over soon," she promises as she leaves, casting one last glance at Ginny, who is on her back, staring at the ceiling. "He'll come back to you."

Ginny wishes she could say, "I think you're right," without lying.

~


End file.
